domingo, 11 de dezembro de 2016


Until the three Moerae do cut my thread,
So much to be endured and to be done;
And each mischance and joy to lie ahead,
May I take equally, before I'm gone.
When all looks grim and quicksand's all around;
One being mad the only lucidity;
Do reach for whatever good can be found;
Affect a convenient stupidity.
If only Venus would have mercy on me,
Grant me the wish that is every mortal's,
Maybe humans' silly pageant I'll see
Regardless of their vain petty morals.
This may make but little sense to one's ear,
But did bring forth much more than single tear.

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